The Doctor and the Princess, or, A Duty of Care
by TaleasOldasTimeandSpace
Summary: Trying to escape her engagement, Clara meets three men who are trying to start a war. They find themselves followed by a mysterious Man in Black...
1. Murdered by Pirates is Good

**Like the scientists of Jurassic Park, I scorn coming up with original ideas in favour of shamelessly standing on the shoulders of a story by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw on AO3. Hopefully it turns out better for me than it did for them.**

Clara would be the most beautiful woman in the kingdom of Florin, but she wasn't actually from Florin. She didn't really have a home, but enjoyed having adventures and tormenting the man with whom she traveled. His name was Basil, but she never called him that. Especially when she was irritated with him.

As she was now.

'You daft old man! I was having fun! Why did you pull us out town?' Clara jogged after her companion, who was stalking down the road with long strides.

'Because you managed to insult all of the town elders in one go and they were _this_ close to running us out of town with pitchforks and torches!' He held his thumb and forefinger a half an inch apart for emphasis, before stuffing his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders. It shouldn't have been possible, but somehow he managed to cover even more ground without actually breaking into a run.

'They were breeding an army of screaming eels! We couldn't just let them get away with it!' Not for the first time, Clara cursed the height difference that made it hard to keep up with him.

That issue became moot when he stopped abruptly, yanking his hands out of his pockets and scrubbing them through his fluffy grey hair. 'But I have a duty of care! You travel with me, so I'm responsible for your safety. I can't just stand by and watch when you put yourself in dangerous situations.'

'I never asked for that! I'm responsible for my own decisions, and I was fine!' She swung around and planted herself in front of him, glaring up at him as she invaded his personal space. She knew he hated that, but at the moment she was too angry to care.

'You were tied up, and they were lowering you into a tank of eels!' He didn't step back, but he did draw himself up to his full height, which was significantly more than her less-than-intimidating five-foot-one.

'I had everything under control!' She threw her hands up in frustration, barely missing smacking him in the nose, and whirled to stalk down the road.

This was how their adventures often went. He had maps of all the kingdoms, and together they traveled from town to town. The traveling wasn't the problem. The problem was that, more often than not, the towns they would stop in were usually embroiled in some deadly/nefarious/diabolical plot that threatened the lives of everyone in whichever kingdom they happened to be in. Sometimes all of the kingdoms at once. Naturally, they couldn't just stand by and watch that happen. Well, he could, especially if it meant keeping Clara out of danger. But Clara had no interest in being kept out of danger. She thrived on danger.

She wasn't exactly sure when he had decided he had a duty of care when it came to her. When they'd first started traveling together, they'd both run headlong into danger, laughing at every near-death experience. But apparently he'd thought she was dead one too many times, and the uncertainty of her safety triggered some kind of overprotective response. It wasn't something she wanted, and she'd die in one of their crazy escapades before she admitted it was something she sometimes needed.

They'd had to leave their horses in the last town – pitchfork-and-torch-wielding-mobs didn't wait politely while you stopped at the stable to collect your livestock – and it was several days until they reached civilization. After too many nights spent sleeping on the ground, all Clara wanted was to get a room in the local inn, have a bath for the next day or so in water that stayed hot the entire time, and then sleep in a soft bed for the next week. She didn't want any adventures, and she didn't care if he hovered protectively, as long as he did it in the hall or his own room.

He escorted her up to one of the rooms in the Rose and Crown, as if he was afraid some dire threat would leap out at her from the woodwork of the narrow staircase if she dared to ascend on her own. Now that her ire at being thwarted in her thrill-seeking had died down, she had to admit it rather sweet of him. She unlocked her door, then turned back to face him, leaning against the door frame. She was too tired to try and remain upright by herself.

'So what are you going to do for the next few days?' She knew he got bored easily, and she needed to recover her strength before resuming her role of keeping him amused and out of mischief…well, neither one of them every really stayed out of mischief, but he was perfectly capable of creating trouble when there was no life-threatening menace to combat.

'Well, this city is known for a drink called "coffee." I thought I might check it out; it sounds like it might be useful for restoring energy.' He stood with his legs spread and hands in pockets, his typical at-rest pose. He certainly didn't look like he needed an energy boost.

'If it's any good, bring me back some. I could use it. But not for a couple of days, at least.'

'Yes, ma'am.' He grinned and gave her a mock-salute.

'And don't get in trouble and get us run out of town. We need a week or so of quiet before we right any more wrongs.'

'That's what I tried to tell _you_ at our last stop,' he muttered.

'I heard that. Do you have your cards with you? I doubt the people here are fluent in Grouchy Stick Insect like I am.'

He rolled his eyes, but pull a small stack of cards from his coat pocket and flourished them at her. 'Right here. I promise not to offend the locals. Go have a wash before you frighten them.'

She snorted. 'You always say the sweetest things.'

He started down the hall, but paused and turned back. 'Clara, please don't get yourself into any…situations while I'm gone.' She laughed, but he looked at her earnestly. 'I'm serious. I have a-'

'Duty of care, I know. Look, all I want to do is have a bath and sleep. There aren't many ways I could get in trouble doing that. I'll be fine.' He looked unconvinced, but she made shooing motions with her hands. 'Seriously, I'll be fine. Go fetch coffee.'

As he disappeared down the stairs, she yelled, 'And stay out of trouble yourself, old man.'

'Not if I can help it,' he called back.

* * *

When she emerged from her room a few days later, she was surprised to find that he hadn't been back to the inn since he'd left to find 'coffee.' She wasn't worried, though. It wasn't the first time he'd left her somewhere before, and it wasn't even the longest. He'd probably gotten distracted, but he'd be back. He always came back. After a few more days, she found out that he'd been kidnapped by a press gang and set sail on a small merchant ship called the _Re_ _nette._ She still wasn't worried – it wasn't the first time something like this had happened, and he'd probably sail back into port in a month or two. Knowing him, he'd be the captain, and he'd be bursting with tales of how he fought off sea monsters and pirates and pirate sea monsters. He'd be impossible to live with for the foreseeable future.

But then she heard that his ship was attacked by the _Tardis,_ the ship of the Dread Pirate Doctor, and her world came crashing down. The Doctor took no prisoners. Not even Basil, grouchy, brilliant Basil, could escape being murdered by pirates on the high seas.

It wasn't until she knew he was dead that she realized that his duty of care fixation was his way of saying I love you, and what made it worse was that, in spite of their constant bickering, she loved him back. But it was far too late for both of them. She knew that she would never say those words now. They belonged to him. Since she couldn't say them to him, she would never say them to anyone else.

She locked herself in her room and cried for days. But crying wouldn't bring him back, and it certainly wouldn't support her in a strange town. She went to work in the inn's tavern, serving food and drink to travelers passing through. To people in the middle of their own adventures, the way she used to be. But she found that adventures no longer appealed, not without Basil to share them with and waddle after her like an overgrown penguin, flapping his arms and bleating about his duty of care.

She'd give anything to argue with him again.

* * *

 **It's probably a really bad idea to start this, when I already have two other fics in the works, but oh well. It's not like I have any distractions, like a life, or a job. Oh, wait...**

 **As I said at the top, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw graciously gave me permission to piggy-back on the brilliant idea of a Princess Bride/Doctor Who mashup. I'm basing this extremely loosely on the movie. I believe Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw is working on one that follows the book, so hopefully they won't be too similar. Except for, y'know, the obvious.**

 **While I'm not fussy about Basil as a name for the Doctor, I do think it's better than John Smith. So I'll probably be using something like Basil Funkenstien as an alter-ego for the Doctor from now on.**


	2. A Prestigious Line of Work

Five years later, Clara was no longer working in the Rose and Crown. Instead, she was engaged to Prince Rupertpink. There had even been an elaborate ceremony, where Rupertpink made a ridiculous speech and she was presented to the people of the kingdom as Princess Clara. She was not at all happy with the situation. She didn't love Rupertpink. She didn't even _like_ Rupertpink. She didn't want to be princess and eventually queen. The law said the prince could marry anyone he chose, but that didn't mean she had to like it. It certainly didn't mean she was going to sit around and let it happen.

Which was why, one autumn morning, she was riding her horse as fast as she could to the bay. She was fairly certain she could buy passage on a ship leaving Florin. If she was lucky, she'd find a Guilder ship, since they weren't exactly on friendly terms with Florin. It was unlikely that the Florin prince would be allowed to search for his missing bride in Guilder. Hopefully, he'd decide she was more trouble than she was worth and find someone else to marry. Someone without a backbone. (Maybe someone named Buttercup. She'd always felt the name Buttercup was reserved for particularly spineless individuals, ones who meekly submitted to whatever circumstance in which they happened to find themselves, no matter how unpleasant, and had absolutely no sense of adventure. Or humour.)

She caught sight of the glimmer of sunlight on water, and she urged her horse faster. 'Come on, Bonnie! Just a little farther! I've got an apple in my pocket for you if you'll just get me to the dock.' The horse must have been susceptible to bribes, because she put on a fresh burst of speed. They rounded a corner to find the road blocked by three men. Clara pulled Bonnie up sharply, leaning forward to stay in the saddle when the horse reared.

'Whoa, girl! Easy, easy.' She patted Bonnie's neck, making soothing noises until the horse calmed down. 'Sorry about that. We were going too fast, and I didn't see you.' Although now that she had a good look at them, she was amazed that she could have missed them.

They stood in a line from shortest to tallest. Although, there wasn't a whole lot of difference between the first two, a slender man with a large chin and a strange silver tattoo on the left side of his face, and a Spaniard with wild hair and thin scars on his cheeks – and one of the most beautiful swords Clara had ever seen. They both stood about six feet, and were completely dwarfed by their companion. He was a mountain of a man, almost as broad as he was tall. From where she sat on Bonnie, she could look him directly in the eye, not that he was looking at her. In fact, he gazed off to the side, a faintly bored expression on his face. On the other hand, the Spaniard stared at her intently while the man with the tattoo smiled at her. It looked like he was trying to be friendly, but it just came across as creepy.

'Can I help you?' The sooner they were on their way the sooner she could find a boat out of Florin.

Tattoo-face spread his hands ingratiatingly. 'We are poor lost circus performers. Is there a town or village nearby?' He spoke with a strange cadence, one that made the otherwise innocent question seem sinister.

Clara narrowed her eyes at him. While they certainly _looked_ like circus performers, there was something decidedly…off about them. She opted to ignore his question for the moment. There wasn't anything for miles, and she didn't want them to know there was no one around to hear her scream. If they happened to have something planned that would involve her screaming. Being on the run was already making her paranoid. It reminded her of the old days, traveling with Basil. She pushed that thought, with its familiar sting, away and tightened her hands on the reins. Just in case. 'I didn't know there was a circus in town,' she replied instead. What's the name of your troupe?'

All three of them blinked at her. Apparently that wasn't the response they were expecting. Tattoo-Face's smile faltered for a moment, but returned full-strength. 'We are members of, of-of Hedgewick's Traveling World of Wonders! I am Vizzini, but throughout the kingdoms I am known as Mr. Clever.' He put a hand to his chest and bowed with a flourish.

'Modest, aren't you?' Clara murmured.

He shrugged, the Spaniard rolled his eyes, and the giant yawned. 'We're here for the marriage of Prince Rupertpink and the lovely Princess Clara. Part of the entertainment, you understand.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'Is that right? It's funny that I haven't heard of you, then. The wedding being _such_ a big event and all. The details have been finalized for months, and there's been absolutely no mention of a circus.' She ought to know, since it was her wedding. Even if she had no intention of actually attending it herself.

Mr. Clever seemed to be getting frustrated with her lack of cooperation. But then, cooperation had never been something she was particularly good at. Especially with people that she was pretty sure did not have her best interests at heart. He growled and turned to the giant. 'I give up. We're wasting time. Fezzik?'

The giant moved toward her, and Clara danced Bonnie away. 'Watch it!' She was confident in her horse's ability to outrun the men, in spite of their race from the castle. Bonnie was the best thing to come out of her engagement, and it saddened her that she couldn't take the horse with her to Guilder. But trying to find passage for a horse wasn't exactly the subtle escape she was hoping to achieve.

Mr. Clever heaved a long-suffering sigh. Oh, poor thing. She was _inconveniencing_ him. 'Your highness, this would be so much easier if you would just cooperate.' So they knew who she was. Somehow she wasn't surprised.

'I've had quite enough of people trying to make me do things against my will.' Fezzik made another swipe at her, and she circled Bonnie around again. 'You're not giving me any reason to make an exception in your case.'

'I told you snatching the princess and making for the Guilder frontier was going to be harder than you thought,' the Spaniard muttered. 'Maybe next time you will realize you are not as clever as you think you are.'

'A princess with a backbone and an ounce of sense? It's inconceivable! And I didn't ask for your opinion, Montoya!' Mr. Clever shook a finger in the Spaniard's face. 'Remember this, never forget this: When I found you, you were so slobbering drunk you couldn't buy brandy!' Obviously he wasn't accustomed to people questioning his judgement or thwarting his plans.

That didn't really matter, though, because Clara only cared about one word from their exchange. 'Guilder? You're going to Guilder? Why didn't you say so in the first place?' She hopped off Bonnie, fishing out the promised apple. As the horse crunched the well-earned treat, she grinned at them. 'Take me with you!'

'Wait, you _want_ us to kidnap you?' It was the first time Fezzik had spoken, and his voice was _deep_. She could feel it in her chest, and quite possibly through the soles of her feet, as well. And now that she was on the ground, she realized she barely came up to his chest. Maybe only to his waist. And she thought Basil was tall.

'Absolutely!' She retrieved her saddlebag, slung it over her shoulder, and looked at them expectantly. They stared at her. 'Well?' She waved at them impatiently. 'Let's get a move on, then. I don't have all day.' She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. 'There's probably a herd of guards on my trail already.'

Montoya and Fezzik looked at Mr. Clever, who shrugged helplessly. 'Inconceivable!'

* * *

As it turned out, their boat wasn't all that far away. Montoya and Fezzik escorted her to the dock while Mr. Clever did something with a Guilder uniform and her saddle. She didn't ask, because she didn't want her conscience interfering with her best chance to escape Florin. She was confident she could lose them at some future point, if necessary.

As they neared the boat, Montoya yelled out, 'Porridge! Get ready to cast off.' A man sitting by the rudder waved his acknowledgment and began bustling around the ship. Montoya smiled down at Clara. 'Porridge is the other member of our little crew, and the only one of us who really has any idea of what's he's doing when it comes to sailing. He wanted to stay with the boat, but you'll meet him when we go aboard.'

'How did you all meet?' They were all so dissimilar it seemed unlikely that they could have gotten together by chance.

'Fezzik and I were both down on our luck. I was, well,' he shrugged phlegmatically, 'like he said, I was broke and drunk, and Vizzini – Mr. Clever – sobered me up and offered me a job. Because,' He grinned at her, drawing his sword and performing several flashy patterns, 'I am the best swordsman in the world, drunk or sober!'

'It's a beautiful sword.' Clara didn't try to hide her admiration. Montoya and Fezzik didn't project the same discomforting aura that Mr. Clever did, and it couldn't hurt to be on good terms with 'the best swordsman in the world.'

Montoya's smile turn melancholy. 'It was made by my father for a six-fingered man. My father laboured over it for a year, but when the man returned, he refused to pay the sum he promised. When my father refused to give him the sword, the man ran him through. I was upset by this, naturally, so I took up the sword and demanded satisfaction for my father's murder. I lost, of course – I was only a boy. The man let me live, but he gave me this,' he traced the scar on one cheek, 'and this,' he did the same for the other cheek. He sighed, gazing at the sword for a moment, then sheathed it. 'For the next twenty years I study fencing. I eat, drink, dream fencing, so that the next time I meet the man, I will not lose. I will look him in the eye and say, "Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."'

Clara blinked at him as he stared dreamily into space. She hadn't expected quite so much…drama from an innocent comment about a sword. And she understood his desire to avenge his father's murder, but twenty years? That seemed a little excessive. Not to mention the fact that his story almost sounded rehearsed. 'Well, I hope you find him soon,' she offered lamely.

He shook off his reverie. 'You would think a six-fingered man would not be hard to find, but I have found no trace of him in all these years. It is getting a little frustrating.' He grinned sheepishly. 'That is why I was drunk when Vizzini found me.' He raised his voice. 'But I never slobber, no matter how drunk I may be!'

By now they were walking up the gangplank to the little boat. The fourth man, Porridge, was waiting for them as they came aboard. He was a short man, even shorter than Clara. In fact, next to him, she felt like what Fezzik must feel like next to her. It was an odd sensation, being taller than someone who was older than eight. 'Is Inigo telling you his six-fingered man story? He tells it to everyone we meet. Honestly, it's getting kind of old. I mean, _I_ could tell it, I've heard it so many times.' He struck a pose and affected a Spanish accent. _'Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.'_ He shook his head. 'You're so dramatic.' Inigo growled in mock offence, but Porridge ignored him in favour of smiling at Clara. 'Anyway, welcome aboard, m'lady. I'm Porridge, and I'm the devastatingly good-looking and devilishly charming one of our band.'

Clara laughed and shook the hand he offered. 'Enchanting to meet you, Porridge.'

Inigo pretended to cuff Porridge with his elbow, but the shorter man ducked easily. 'You are just jealous that your story is not as colourful as mine. That is probably why you refuse to share it. You do not want us to know that you are merely a simple fisherman who ran away from home.'

Porridge slapped his head theatrically. 'You're right! You've discovered my secret, curse you! Now I'll have to drown myself in the bay to escape the shame!'

'I think drowning might be a little tame,' Fezzik stated gravely.

Clara's eyes darted to him, uncertain as to whether or not he had rhymed on purpose.

Porridge squinted at him with one eye and grinned. 'Maybe I should set myself on fire.'

'It would make a lovely pyre.' Fezzik's stoic face broke into a broad smile, and Clara was amazed at how his whole demeanor changed. She would never have guessed that he had a sense of humour. It was obvious that the three men were good friends, regardless of the circumstances that had brought them together.

She smiled at him. 'You have a gift for rhyme.'

He gently placed his hand on her head. It was so huge that it was like wearing a hat. 'Yes, yes. Some of the time.'

She laughed. 'So Fezzik, how did you end up here?'

'I found him. Unemployed. In Greenland. Which is where you'll all be going if you don't get back to work!' Mr. Clever's grating voice made them all jump. 'Why are you standing around gossiping?! I'm paying you to kidnap the princess, not invite her to a tea party!' He clearly did not share the group's camaraderie, and her opinion of the other three men went up. Anyone who was not friendly with the strange man couldn't be all bad.

Porridge and Inigo began to cast off, but Fezzik held his ground. 'I just thought it would be nice to make friends with the lady. It'll make traveling easier, since we haven't really kidnapped her.'

Mr. Clever rounded on him. 'Am I going mad, or did the word "think" escape your lips?!'

Clara leaned close to Porridge, who was coiling a rope beside her. 'Actually, it was "thought."'

Porridge snorted, and Mr. Clever whirled around, glaring at them suspiciously. Clara smiled at him blandly. He grunted and turned back to Fezzik. 'You were not hired for your brains, you hippopotamic land mass!'

Clara expected Fezzik to snap the shorter man in half – he certainly looked capable of such a feat – but he merely hunched his shoulders and moved to take the wheel of the boat.

Clara was ready to bite Mr. Clever's head off herself, but Inigo moved closer to Fezzik and said in a stage whisper, 'That Vizzini, he can _fuss_.'

Fezzik scratched his chin. 'Fuss, fuss…I think he like to scream _at us!'_

'Probably he means no _harm,_ ' Porridge offered.

'He's really very short on _charm,'_ Fezzik supplied with a grin.

Clara laughed and applauded, but Mr. Clever was not amused. 'Knock it off, children. Playtime's over.'

The boat slowly moved out into the bay, but Inigo wasn't done yet. 'Fezzik! Are there rocks ahead?'

'If there are, we'll all be dead!'

'No more rhymes now, I mean it!' Mr. Clever growled.

Clara could see the wheels in Fezzik's head turning, and she held up a finger before he could say anything. She rummaged around in her saddlebag, pulling out a small pouch. Opening it, she held it out and asked innocently, 'Anybody want a peanut?'

Their laughter was drowned out by Mr. Clever's frustrated howl. She was pretty sure they could hear it back at the castle.

Throwing in with these bandits was shaping up to be the best decision she had made since agreeing to travel with Basil.

* * *

 **So…yeah. Obviously Clara is nothing like Buttercup (and my apologies to anyone named Buttercup. But you have to admit, she's kind of spineless.). I'm liking where this is going, though.**

 **I named Clara's horse for her bike – a Bonneville Scrambler, as far as I can tell – and inadvertently named her after Clara's Zygon doppelganger, as well. But hey, maybe that was their reasoning in the show, too. I've wondered how she came up with that name.**

 **Once again, I've cast Danny as a villain. I feel horrible – he's really nice as an individual, and I love it when he's being a soldier and standing up to the Doctor's irrational and frankly annoying contempt for soldiers (my dad was in the Navy, so I'm sensitive about the military, even if it's of a different country). But I HATED him with Clara. No one shall come between me and my ship! Whouffaldi forever!**

 **I really wanted to cast Porridge as Vizzini, but he's too nice to be Vizzini. Then I was vacillating between the Great Intelligence and Mr. Clever, but I think Mr. Clever's a better fit. But hey, I threw Porridge in there anyway. I like him!**

 **Also, and on a completely random note, I've had an idea for another fic, on top of the three I have going now. I'm trying to resist, but it callsss to ussss….**

 **Next up, the Cliffs of Insanity!**


	3. Inconceivable!

**Clara and company cross the channel to Guilder, but acquire a shadow along the way.**

* * *

Clara was bored. She estimated they were halfway across the Guilder channel, but it was too dark to tell for sure. Still, with any luck they'd reach land by morning. Everybody except Mr. Clever was busy with the boat, and she didn't really want to talk to him anyway. He was the only one of the group that made her uncomfortable. Fezzik was sweet, Inigo was brash and entertaining, and Porridge was a man after her own snarky heart.

Over the course of their voyage, she'd found out what brought such dissimilar individuals together. Fezzik hired on with Mr. Clever as a way to get out of Greenland. Apparently men who could wrestle six people at once weren't overly popular there. Inigo saw it as an opportunity to support himself while searching for the six-fingered man. When she'd ask Porridge why he was working for Mr. Clever, he'd just smirked and said he came with the boat.

Shifting uncomfortably against the hull of the boat, she stretched her legs out on the deck in front of her. She eyed her boots and leggings with satisfaction, congratulating herself on the forethought that ensured she was properly dressed for adventuring. While she'd often worn a dress when getting into – and out of - loads of trouble traveling with Basil, she liked the freedom of movement leggings gave her. And the red tunic, well – just because she was on the run, it didn't mean she couldn't look good.

She caught Mr. Clever watching her, and sighed. She'd been putting off finding out what exactly he was up to, but now was as good a time as any. It wasn't like they would turn around and send her back to Florin if she didn't approve. At least, she didn't think they would. And she was fairly certain that she _would_ disapprove. Mentally squaring her shoulders, she turned to him with a bright smile.

'So, what do you need with a princess, anyway? And did you want a general, all-purpose princess, or am I special? I mean,' she gestured to herself, 'I know I'm special, but did you want to kidnap me for more than my native excellence?'

He smiled thinly and pointed at her. 'You're not as amusing as you think.'

'Sure I am. I'm hilarious. And you haven't answered my question.'

'I don't answer questions from scared little girls.' He said the last three words as if they were jabs.

She rolled her eyes. 'Alright, first – I'm not scared of you. I volunteered, remember? If anything, _I_ kidnapped _you._ ' A muffled snort from the vicinity of the rudder told her Porridge was listening to the conversation. 'And second – I am _not_ a little girl.' For a long moment, the only sound was the creak of rope and planking and the splash of water against the hull. Then all four men burst into laughter. She crossed her arms and glared. 'Yes, all right, poor choice of words.' It wasn't her fault she stopped growing just after she cleared five feet. 'Look, I'm just trying to make conversation here. It's a long voyage, and it's not like I've got anything else to do. Besides, I think I have a right to know why you wanted to kidnap me.'

'No, you're being nosy.'

Porridge sighed. Loudly. 'Come on, Vizzini. Just tell her. She might even be willing to help.'

Inigo caught a rope and swung effortlessly up into the rigging. Showoff. 'I agree with Porridge. It cannot hurt to tell her, and I think she might enjoy it.' He winked down at her. 'I think you like adventure, no?'

'I like adventure, yes. Used to, anyway.' Adventure made her think of Basil, and she couldn't think of Basil right now.

'It really doesn't matter if she likes adventure or not. Nor does it matter what any of you think. I'm in charge, remember? I make the decisions, nobody else. This is not a democracy.'

'That's not a bad idea, really. We should put it to a vote.' Porridge raise his hand. 'All in favour of telling Clara the plan?'

'I am in,' Inigo called down.

'Fezzik?'

The giant shrugged from his seat in the bow. 'I like her.'

'Good enough. That's three to one, Vizzini. You tell her, or I will.'

'Inconceivable! How did I have the misfortune to hire idiots with _opinions?'_ Mr. Clever asked the mast in irritation. He threw up his hands. 'Fine! I was hired to start a war between Florin and Guilder, and I hired these pathetic misfits to help me do it.'

'A war?' Clara asked cautiously, trying to keep her face blank.

'It's a prestigious line of work, with a long and glorious tradition.'

She barked a laugh. 'Oh, yes, very prestigious, resulting in the deaths of thousands,' she said sarcastically.

He shrugged. 'Everybody dies eventually. It's not really my concern. Nor should it be yours.'

'Of course it's my concern! You want to use me to start a war! How is that not my concern?' She was vaguely aware of Fezzik and Porridge watching their argument with undisguised interest, their heads swiveling back and forth as if they were watching a tennis match.

He narrowed his eyes at her. 'You're one of those annoying people with a conscience, aren't you?' He shook his head. 'So inconvenient.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Oh, I'm _so_ sorry my pesky conscience is inconveniencing you. My heart bleeds at your distress.'

He slapped the deck, making her jump. ' _You_ wanted to know! I wanted to keep it quiet, but you just had to know everything.'

From the rigging, Inigo called down, 'Uh, Vizzini?'

Mr. Clever ignored him. 'This war will happen, and it doesn't matter if you approve or not.'

'Vizzini?'

'It will go easier for you if you cooperate, but your cooperation is not necessary.'

'Vizzini!'

 _'What?'_

'I am just wondering if you think anybody could be following us.'

'Why would anybody be following us? Nobody in Guilder knows what we've done, and nobody in Florin could have gotten here so fast.'

'So you are absolutely sure that nobody is following us.'

'I just _told_ you.' He leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. 'It would be absolutely, totally, and in all other ways inconceivable!' He thought for a minute and frowned. Tilting his head back, he squinted up at Inigo. 'Out of curiosity, why do you ask?'

Inigo shrugged, lounging casually in the rigging. Clara couldn't fathom how he made it look comfortable. 'No reason. It is only,' he waved behind them, 'I just happen to look behind us, and something is there.'

'What?!' Mr. Clever sprang to his feet and turned to hang over the rail. Clara contemplated pushing him over the side, but regretfully decided that one of the others would just fish him out. Instead, she joined him at the railing to look behind them. Sure enough, there was a small boat on the horizon. There hadn't been anything when they left Florin, so either they just happen to cross paths in the middle of the channel, or somebody had a faster boat than they did.

'It's probably just some local fisherman, out for a pleasure cruise at night.'

Clara looked at him sideways. 'Really?'

'In eel-infested waters?' Porridge deadpanned from the tiller.

'Eel-infested?' she asked with interest.

'Shrieking eels. The channel is swarming with them.'

'Oh.' She shuddered. The last time she'd encountered shrieking eels had very nearly not ended well. There went her half-formed plan to swim to the other boat.

'So don't get any ideas about trying to swim to the other boat,' Mr. Clever snapped. 'You'd make it maybe halfway before you were fish food.'

She put a hand on her chest and tried to look innocent. 'Never crossed my mind.' She crossed her arms, going for righteously indignant. 'How many times do I have to remind you that I _want_ to be here?' Or at least, she _didn't_ want to be in Florin, which worked out to about the same thing at this point.

'Well, no matter. He can't catch us before we reach the Guilder frontier, and after that he won't be able to stop us.'

'Which brings me back to my original query: How exactly are you going to use me to start a war?'

'You're the princess of Florin,' Porridge said when Mr. Clever ignored her in favour of glaring at the other boat. 'Why wouldn't they come after you when you're kidnapped by Guilder?'

She nodded thoughtfully. That actually made sense. 'But there's one problem – I'm not really a princess.'

'But you're engaged to Rupertpink, and he's the prince. Of course he'd come after his one true love.' He sighed, a dreamy smile on his face.

She blinked at him. Apparently Porridge was a bit of a romantic. 'I'm not his one true love. I barely know him. The only reason he wants to marry me is because he thinks I'm pretty. Personally, I think that's a lousy reason to marry somebody.'

Porridge frowned, and she felt a little bad for bursting his bubble. 'Then why are you marrying him?'

'I'm _not._ ' She spread her arms, indicating the boat. 'Why do you think I'm here? I'm trying to get _away_ from him.' She sighed. 'Look, he came to the pub where I worked, with this huge entourage, and told me that I was the most beautiful woman in Florin and that he was going to do me the great honour of marrying me. I told him I wasn't going to marry anybody, and he said the law said he could, and that I could come quietly, or he'd have his guards take me by force. Nobody else in the room even twitched. I've been plotting my escape ever since, and that's how I ran into you guys. I don't like what you're planning, but I don't want to go back to Florin, so I won't do anything to stop you.' _At least, not until we get to Guilder,_ she added silently.

Porridge was still frowning. 'I didn't realize it'd gotten so bad in Florin.'

She shrugged. 'From what I hear, things started going downhill when the king disappeared. Some people think Rupertpink had something to do with it, but nobody has any proof. I wasn't there when the old king – Rupertpink's brother, right? – ruled, so I have no comparison. But from what I've seen these last five years…Yeah, it's pretty bad.' She laughed bitterly. 'Maybe the king will return and make everything better. And maybe the Dread Pirate Doctor will give up piracy and murder and become one of the kingdom's leading citizens.'

A gigantic yawn snuck up and caught her by surprise, and all at once the events of the day came crashing down. She could barely keep her eyes open anymore, and she sank back to the deck, pulling her cloak out of her bag and wrapping it around her. 'Well, this is all very exciting, but I've had a long day. Wake me when we get to Guilder. Or when our friend catches up with us, whichever comes first.'

* * *

She woke to the sound of Mr. Clever yelling instructions to the crew. Apparently, they were almost to Guilder, but the ship following them was gaining quickly. She stretched, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and sat up. Fezzik had taken over from Porridge on the rudder, and Inigo had climbed down from the rigging to direct the sail from the deck. She grinned at his dramatic pose - legs spread wide and a rope in either hand. She was starting to get the feeling he did nothing subtly.

When Fezzik saw she was awake, he waved and called out cheerfully, 'Morning, Lady!'

Porridge, standing with Mr. Clever in the bow, heard Fezzik and turned with a smile. 'Good morning, princess!'

'Morning, Fezzik! Morning, Porridge. But please, call me Clara. I told you last night – I'm not really a princess.'

He lifted one shoulder. 'You don't have to be born a royal – or marry a prince – to be a princess. You just have to act like one, and you're a natural.' He smiled shyly. 'But I'd be happy to call you Clara.'

Her heart melted a little. Porridge was incredibly sweet.

Mr. Clever didn't seem to agree. He hit Porridge on the back of the head. 'Stop flirting with the prisoner and get ready to dock. I want everyone off this boat as soon as we reach the cliffs.'

Inigo frowned and looked over his shoulder. 'Do you think we will make it in time? He is right on top of us!' Clara swirled her cloak around her shoulders and slung her bag across her chest, leaning out to look behind them. Sure enough, the boat that had been a spot on the horizon last night was now close enough to see that there was only one figure aboard, a man dressed all in black. 'I wonder if he is using the same wind we are using,' Inigo remarked thoughtfully.

She raised an eyebrow. 'Why? Do you not like to share?'

He laughed. 'It all depends on who wants to share, and what it is they want to share. I do not mind sharing the wind, but I refuse to share glory.'

'So you think he wants to start a war as well? That could get awkward.'

'It doesn't matter who he is or what he wants!' Mr. Clever interrupted. 'He's too late! We're here – the Cliffs of Insanity!'

'Who comes up with these names? And what's so insane about…' Clara turned to look at the cliffs and her voice trailed off. 'Oh. Those are really high. And steep.'

'Exactly! Only Fezzik is strong enough to go up our way! Our friend will have to sail around for hours to find a harbour, and by then we'll be long gone!'

She eyed the cliffs. Short of everyone spontaneously sprouting wings, she didn't see how they were going to reach the top. 'What exactly is your way?'

Their way turned out to be a small platform attached to a pulley system at the top of the cliffs. It must have taken a while to set up, which meant that they had been planning this little escapade for some time.

Mr. Clever caught her looking at the platform. 'What? I suppose you were expecting Fezzik to climb a rope hand-over-hand, while carrying us all in a harness?'

She stared at him blankly. 'Why would I think that would be a good way to get up an impossibly high cliff? Fezzik's strong, but even he couldn't carry four people all that way.' She glanced at Fezzik, who was untying the rope on the platform. 'Could you?'

He grinned. 'No, Lady. I'm strong, but I'm not that strong.'

She like it when he called her 'lady.' It made her feel far more like a princess than being engaged to Rupertpink ever had.

Mr. Clever shoved her toward the platform. 'Enough chit-chat. I want us to be halfway up the cliffs before our friend can even dock.'

When everyone was aboard, Fezzik slowly began to pull them up the face of the cliff. Even with the pulley, it had to be a lot of work. Clara was impressed at his strength.

Ingio leaned over the side of the platform. 'Well, I do not think he will have trouble finding a way around the cliffs,' he remarked.

'Why do you say that?' Clara asked.

'Because he is climbing the rope.'

'What?!' Mr. Clever pushed to the edge of the platform as well, almost shoving Porridge off in the process. Clara leaned over to get a look as well. Sure enough, a small black figure was quickly pulling himself up the rope. 'Inconceivable! What kind of lunatic climbs up the Cliffs of Insanity with nothing more than a rope?'

'He is gaining on us,' Inigo observed.

'Fezzik! Faster! What's the point of having you around if you're going to let some random fisherman ruin all my plans?'

'I don't think he's a fisherman,' Porridge whispered to Clara.

'I think you're probably right,' she whispered back.

'Inigo! Porridge! Make yourselves useful and help Fezzik, instead of gossiping with the prisoner.'

'I was not gossiping!' Inigo protested indignantly, as he and Porridge went to help Fezzik.

Clara glared at Mr. Clever. 'I am _not_ your prisoner. How many times do I have to tell you that?'

He sneered at her. 'It amuses me that you remain convinced I actually care what you think.'

'I think you care as much about my opinion as I do about yours,' she said sweetly. Leaning over, she took another look at their shadow. If they didn't reach the top of the cliffs soon, he'd probably catch them. He must have remarkable upper-body strength to climb the way he was. She wondered idly who would win in a fight between him and Fezzik. She squinted. 'Is he wearing dark glasses?' It was hard to tell; he had some sort of hooded jacket that hid most of his face. But when he looked up to gauge the distance between himself and their platform, it certainly looked like he was either wearing a mask or glasses. She caught a glimpse of the dawn light reflecting off a lens. Definitely glasses. 'Who wears dark glasses when trying to follow a bunch of random strangers up a ridiculously high cliff?'

No one answered, because at that moment, they reached the top. Fezzik held the platform steady while everyone else hopped off. Mr. Clever forced his way off first, pulling out a dagger and beginning to saw at the rope almost before his feet touched the ground. Clara followed him. 'What are you doing?!' she demanded.

'We can't have him interfering. I don't know what his plans are, but he's obviously following us, and I will not let some idiot in a hood and glasses thwart the creation of a perfectly good war.'

Clara didn't know who he was either, but that didn't mean she was going to let Mr. Clever send him to his death. 'Give me that!' She lunged for the dagger, trying to wrestle it away from him. She might be short, but she was strong. And working in a tavern for five years – not to mention all the traveling she'd done with Basil before that – meant that she'd learned how to fight.

'Get off me! Fezzik! Restrain her!'

Fezzik obeyed, picking her up from behind while she yelled angrily and kicked.

Mr. Clever went back to sawing. The rope was thick, giving Inigo and Porridge just enough time to get off the platform before he finished cutting it. The rope slithered through the pulley and the platform plummeted down to the bottom of the cliff. It was almost a minute before the heard the crash as it broke against the rocks below.

Mr. Clever dusted his hands. 'Well, that's that. And as for you, your highness,' he spat the title with derision, 'I think you've had a little too much freedom on this little trip.' He pulled a smaller rope from one of the packs and proceeded to tie her hands.

'Why you-' She kicked out at him, but with Fezzik still holding her, she couldn't do much damage.

'Uh, Vizzini?' Porridge called from the cliff.'

'I hope Rupertpink _does_ catch up to you,' she growled. 'He can take care of the body after I run you through.'

'What's the matter, _Princess?_ Do you need your prince charming to rescue you after all? I thought you wanted to get away from him.'

'Vizzini, you should come and look at this,' Inigo added.

'A lifetime with him would almost be preferable to spending another day with _you_.'

He pinched her cheek. 'Now, now. Don't worry your little head – you won't have to put up with either of us for much longer.'

' _Vizzini!'_ Porridge and Inigo yelled together.

' _What?'_ Mr. Clever stalked over to join them at the cliff. They pointed down.

'He's still climbing the rope,' Porridge explained. Clara smirked with satisfaction and relief. Maybe her yelling had been enough of a warning.

'He didn't fall?! Inconceivable!'

Inigo and Porridge exchanged looks. 'You keep using that word,' Inigo observed mildly. 'I do not think it means what you think it means.'

'Oh, thank you. Thanks for that. When I want commentary on my vocabulary and word choice, I'll ask Fezzik.'

Fezzik set Clara on her feet, but kept a hand on her shoulder. 'Don't ask me. I don't know what it means.' She experimentally tried to move away, but his grip tightened. He smiled apologetically down at her. 'Sorry, Lady.'

Mr. Clever slapped a rock in frustration. 'It means we're going to go on ahead with the prisoner. Inigo, you stay behind and finish him off. If he falls, fine. If not – the sword. Catch up to us when he's dead.'

Inigo nodded. 'This I can do. But I am going to fight him left-handed.'

Mr. Clever groaned and buried his face in his hands. 'You _know_ what a hurry we're in!'

Inigo shrugged. 'If I fight with my right, over too quick. This will make it interesting.'

'Fine. Whatever. Just kill him. Porridge, Fezzik, you're with me. Bring the girl.'

Clara tried dragging her feet, but Fezzik just picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. As the moved away, she could see Inigo shaking out his hands and doing some practice moves with his sword. She hoped the man in black knew what he was doing. If Inigo was half as good as he bragged, she feared their shadow had escaped a fall only to land on a sword.

* * *

 **Sorry it's taken so long to update. I've got lots of ideas for this story, but they all take place a couple of chapters from this once, leaving no inspiration for the one on which I'm actually working. Eh, it's done now. Finally.**

 **I'm taleasoldastime-andspace on Tumblr. Come say hi!**


	4. Throw Me the Rope

**In which nobody is actually left-handed.**

* * *

Inigo paced back and forth at the top of the cliffs, pausing every so often to peer over the edge at the Man in Black before resuming his trek. It had been a whole minute since Vizzini, Fezzik, Porridge, and Clara disappeared behind the ruins, and no matter how many times he checked, the Man in Black seemed to barely move. Inigo _hated_ waiting. It gave him too much time to think about the hurt and betrayal in Clara's eyes, and the doubt in Fezzik and Porridge's eyes. Too much time to think about the doubt lurking in the back of his own mind. All this introspection made him irritable. If he was a philosophical man, which he wasn't, he would say that spending all his time waiting to catch up with the six-fingered man left him no patience for waiting for anything else. At the moment, all he knew was that he wanted the Man in Black to reach the top of the cliffs _now,_ so that they could get on with the slightly more interesting activity of attempting to kill each other. Then he could kill the Man in Black, catch up with the others, and continue to ignore the pesky whispers of his latent conscience while resuming his quest for revenge. Inigo was a simple man, at heart.

He looked over the edge again. The Man in Black had moved up a whole inch. As if he felt Inigo's eyes, he looked up. Inigo waved. 'Hello there. Slow going?'

The Man in Black sighed and reached for another handhold. 'Do you mind? This isn't as easy as it looks. The last thing I need is you distracting me.'

'Oh. Sorry.' Inigo backed away from the cliff, making another circuit of the ruins before returning to his vantage point. The Man in Black had moved up two more inches. At this rate, he'd reach the top of the cliffs sometime the next morning. The very idea of waiting that long was making Inigo twitchy. 'I do not suppose you could speed things up?'

'Look, if you're in such a hurry, you could lower a rope, or a tree branch, or send down a trained giant eagle, or find _something_ useful to do. Otherwise shut up.'

Inigo blithely ignored the rudeness. He was not easily offended, which was a good thing, considering he worked for Vizzini. 'I do have some rope up here. I would offer my help-' the man grunted noncommittally '-but I do not think you would interested.'

The Man in Black sighed heavily. 'Why is that?' he asked resignedly. He didn't seem particularly involved in the conversation, more like he was humouring Inigo in an effort to get him to stop talking. Obviously he didn't know Inigo. _Nothing_ could get him to stop talking.

'Well, I am only waiting up here to kill you.' Inigo felt it was important to be honest, especially with people you would be running through in a few minutes. Or hours, since his would-be opponent wasn't moving very fast.

The man snorted. 'Seriously? You expect me to be surprised by that? I figured it out for myself when you cut the rope.' He muttered something under his breath. Inigo wasn't sure, but he thought it sounded like _pudding brain._

'In my own defense, Vizzini cut the rope, not me. But I do work for Vizzini, and Vizzini ordered me to kill you, so…' he shrugged.

'So we're pretty much back where we started. Shut up and let me climb.'

'I promise I will _not_ kill you until you reach the top,' Ingio offered.

The man snorted again. 'Oh, yes, that's _very_ comforting. You'll just have to wait.'

Inigo groaned. 'I _hate_ waiting.'

'It'll be good for you, then.'

'I could give you my word as a Spaniard,' Inigo suggested hopefully.

'I don't trust the word of _anyone,_ Spaniard or otherwise. Doesn't matter where you're from – a pudding brain's a pudding brain.'

Inigo scratched his head. 'Is there no way I can make you trust me?' he asked plaintively.

'Nope.'

'That does make things difficult.'

'Yep.'

Inigo stared blankly at the horizon for a moment, fingers tapping restlessly on the hilt of his sword. His hand froze, and he glanced down slowly at the sword that was the symbol of his quest for revenge. He took a deep breath. 'I swear on the soul of my father, Domingo Montoya: You will reach the top alive.'

The man looked at him for a minute. Maybe he was weighing his options, maybe he was struck by the seriousness in Inigo's voice, maybe the gravity of the vow was written on Inigo's face. Whatever he saw or heard seemed to decide him, for he nodded and said, 'Throw me the rope.'

It was almost comical how quickly he scaled the cliffs after Inigo threw down the remainder of the rope. The way he climbed, it was no wonder he had come so close to catching them. When he reached the top, Inigo grabbed his arms and hauled him over the edge. The man lay on the ground for a minute, presumably catching his breath. Inigo couldn't blame him.

'Thanks,' he said to the dirt.

Inigo shrugged expansively. 'Is my pleasure.'

The Man in Black grunted before pushing himself to his feet. He turned to face Inigo, attempting to drop into a defensive crouch that nearly resulted in him toppling over.

Inigo raised his hands, holding them away from his body so that the man wouldn't think he was going for his sword. 'No, no – we will wait until you are ready.'

The man eyed him for a minute, then shrugged and dropped heavily onto a rock. 'Thanks again.'

Inigo watched as the man ducked his head so that he could pull off his glasses and clean them on the edge of his jacket. He frowned, studying the man. He was older than Inigo expected, with lines around his mouth and bushy grey eyebrows looming over the tops of his dark glasses. Frankly, Inigo was surprised that the man could sail a boat all night _and_ scale the cliffs and still be relatively upright. There was something about him that didn't sit right with Inigo, something that seemed off – aside from the odd choice of clothes and the decision to follow them across the channel and up the Cliffs of Insanity for no apparent reason, that is. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but since he was going to kill the man in a few minutes anyway, he decided it didn't really matter. Instead, figuring that this would be his best opportunity, he asked, 'I do not mean to pry, but do you by any chance happen to have six fingers on your right hand?'

The Man in Black slowly put his glasses back on, raising his head equally slowly to look at Inigo – at least, Inigo assumed that was what he was doing. It was hard to tell with the glasses. He stared in silence for a full minute, long enough for Ingio to start squirming uncomfortably. He was used to confusion, even fear when he asked that question, but he'd never gotten a response like this. 'Do you begin _all_ conversations this way?' the man asked deliberately.

'Well-'

'Because it's incredibly rude. How would _you_ like it if people came up to you and asked if you had two hearts or a second face on the back of your head or some other invasive question?'

'I did not-'

'Obviously you didn't. Because if you weren't such a pudding brain, you'd realize it's extremely offensive. No wonder you're taking orders from Mr. Chuckles if _that's_ the extent of your conversational skills.'

I apologize if-'

'What gives you the right to go around asking complete strangers such inane questions, anyway?'

'My father was slaughtered by a six-fingered man!'

'….Oh.'

Inigo sighed and slumped onto the rock next to the Man in Black. 'It was twenty years ago, and this is the only way I know how to identify him.' Inigo repeated the story he'd told Clara, although with fewer dramatics. For all of the Man in Black's own obvious melodramatic tendencies, he didn't seem to appreciate theatrics in others.

'You've done nothing but study swordplay for the last twenty years?' Inigo couldn't tell if the man sounded admiring or incredulous.

He shrugged. 'Well, it has been more pursue than study the last few years. I cannot find him anywhere, and I am starting to lose confidence.' He waved in the direction the others had gone. 'I only work for Mr. Chuck- that is, for _Vizzini_ to pay the bills. There is not a lot of money in revenge.'

'I can't imagine why,' the man remarked dryly. He got to his feet and dusted himself off. 'Well, let's get this over with.'

Inigo stood up as well, making a point of drawing his sword with his left hand. Assuming a fighting stance, he finally realized what was bothering him about the Man in Black. 'Wait – do you not have a sword? How am I supposed to fight you if you do not have a sword?'

The man smirked. 'I haven't got a sword.' He held out his arms, turning in place. 'I don't need a sword. I have something better.' He reached into his jacket and pulled out a spoon. Granted, it was a large spoon, but it was a spoon all the same, and no match for the sword for which his father had died.

Inigo dropped his stance, straightening up in indignation. 'You cannot seriously expect me to fight a man who wields a spoon!'

'Why not? Afraid my spoon and I will defeat you and that fancy sword of yours?'

'It is an insult to the art of fencing!'

The man's smirk widened. 'It should make it easy for you, then.'

'I do not _want_ an easy fight!'

He shrugged. 'It'll certainly be an interesting one.' Dramatically, he assumed a fighting stance, right hand on his hip, left hand holding the spoon out as if it was indeed a sword. 'Begin!'

Well, if the man was determined to get himself killed because he was armed with nothing more than a spoon, Inigo certainly not going to be the one to dissuade him. Shrugging philosophically, he lunged forward.

The shock he felt when the man deflected his sword with the spoon was almost enough to send him toppling into the dust. He stumbled a few steps past the man before recovering. Turning back to face his opponent, he eyed him narrowly, trying to determine whether it was skill or luck. The man gazed back impassively, waiting for Inigo to make the next move.

Growling, Inigo lunged again, and _again_ the Man in Black turned aside his blade with the spoon. Even worse, Inigo felt the man rap the back of his head with that infernal spoon as he went past. Whirling around, he saw the man shrug innocently and twirl the spoon in his fingers.

'Give up yet?' the man asked with a smirk.

'Never!' Inigo snarled. 'Stop toying and fight me!'

'I thought that's what I _was_ doing.' But he was the one to lunge forward this time, and they began fighting in earnest.

Now that Inigo was no longer underestimating the man, he found that they were surprisingly evenly matched. The fact that the Man in Black fought with a spoon did not diminish his skill at all. And it was ridiculous, but he couldn't help treating the spoon as if it was a deadly weapon, when it was just a _spoon_. He _knew_ it, knew that if the man managed to hit him with the spoon it might bruise, but it wouldn't cut. That knowledge didn't prevent him from ducking out of the way when the spoon came flying at his head, or hopping backwards over rocks as the man advanced on him.

The spoon came uncomfortably close to his nose, and Inigo threw himself into a backflip to avoid it. He landed easily, striking a dramatic pose. Just because he was fighting an idiot with a spoon didn't mean he couldn't look good. And he _knew_ he looked good. His antics seemed to take his opponent aback slightly, and he decided to press the advantage. Nothing distracted an opponent like conversation.

'You are using Bonetti's Defense against me, ah?'

The man paused briefly, but opted to respond with a slash of his spoon rather than a verbal retort.

Inigo nodded anyway. 'Eh, is fitting, considering the rocky terrain.' He barely managed to catch the spoon on his sword, spinning out of the attack. 'Naturally, you must expect me to attack with Capo Ferro?' he asked, suiting action to words.

The man grunted, turning Inigo's attack and returning with one of his own.

'Ah, I see you too find that Thibault cancels out Capo Ferro.' Inigo backed the man to the edge of one of the ruins, grinning in satisfaction when the man was forced to jump to the ground. 'Unless the enemy has studied his Agrippa…' he continued, summersaulting over the man's head to land in front of his opponent, 'which I have!'

'Do you have to do the banter?' the man finally asked, as if he couldn't keep quiet anymore. 'It's very annoying.'

Inigo laughed, delighted that he managed to get a reaction. 'Annoying? Never!' He punctuated his words with slashes of his sword. Witty,' _slash_ 'cutting,' _clank_ 'sharp, even,' _clash_ 'but _never_ annoying.'

The man snorted in disbelief and went on the attack. With his _spoon._

'You are wonderful,' Inigo remarked in honest admiration. And he was. In fact, as he was slowly forced to give ground over the treacherous terrain of the ruins, Inigo had the suspicion that the man might even be better than him. Well, _slightly_ better, anyway. When he was fighting with his left hand. And on that note… Inigo grinned. 'But I know something you do not know.'

The man sighed. 'What's that?' he asked, his voice clearly saying that he really didn't care but was once again humouring Inigo.

' _I_ am not left-handed!' With that, he smoothly switched his sword to his right hand and went on the offensive. With the advantage of his dominant hand, he was able to force the Man in Black backwards, up a flight of ruined stairs to a higher level of the ruins. Finally, _finally_ this duel was going the way it supposed to. No man armed with a spoon was better than Inigo Montoya, no matter how long he managed to hold out.

'You're amazing,' the man stated as Inigo drove him back towards a ruined wall.

Inigo preened, catching the man between the wall and his sword. 'I ought to be, after twenty years.' He was proud of his skill, and saw no point in wasting time on humility.

'There's something I ought to tell you, though,' the man said, as loose stones fell off the wall to the water far, far below.

Now that the fight was all but over, Inigo was feeling generous. 'Tell me,' he said magnanimously.

The man's face split into a wide, toothy grin. 'I'm not left-handed either.'

For a split second, Inigo froze in shock. He recovered almost immediately, but it was enough for the man to throw him off and switch the spoon to _his_ right hand. Suddenly, Inigo felt very nervous. He _hated_ feeling nervous.

The man attacked again, pushing Inigo around in a circle. Suddenly he paused, spreading his arms wide. Taken aback, Inigo eyed him for a minute. He _knew_ the man was up to something, but he had no idea what it was. So he lunged forward. Somehow the man repelled his sword with the spoon, circled around so that they were back-to-back, and shoved Inigo off the ledge. It wasn't a long drop, but it caught him by surprise, and he only just managed to land on his feet. He whirled to look back up at his foe. The Man in Black smirked, polished his spoon on the sleeve of his coat, and tucked it into an inside pocket before launching himself into the air, catching hold of a bar lodged between two columns and swinging himself around twice before somersaulting off and landing solidly in front of Inigo.

Inigo gaped at him.

The man shrugged and pulled out the spoon again, and they resumed the fight. But Inigo knew that the man really _was_ better than him, and his attacks took on an edge of desperation. He began to fight with less skill and more panic, wildly throwing everything he could at the man to postpone the inevitable.

Finally, the man knocked the sword out of his hand. Defeated, Inigo fell to his knees. 'Who are you?' He panted, bracing himself for the death blow.

'I am the Doctor. And this is my spoon!' Inigo caught a brief glimpse of the Doctor raising the spoon, before he brought it crashing down on Ingio's head and everything went dark.

* * *

 **This was the scene that made me want to write this story in the first place. Just the idea of Twelve fighting Inigo with a spoon is hilarious. It was intimidating to write though, because I've never written a fight scene, and I wanted to do it justice. It ended up being a mash-up of the Princess Bride duel and Twelve's fight with Robin Hood.**


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